


Pristine

by The Hedonistic Angel (englandwouldfalljohn)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 666 Fics Fics Fics, Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), First Time, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Prompt Fic, aziracrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:30:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/The%20Hedonistic%20Angel
Summary: An evening at the Ritz had led to a midnight drive, and now sunrise finds an Angel and a Demon on the verge of giving in to their age old temptation: each other. But when the moment is broken, will Crowley's beloved Bentley become an escape vehicle, or will it take them down the path they'd been seeking all along?For the 666 Fics Fics Fics! Bentley challenge





	Pristine

A wine-stained tongue caressing that tender patch of skin behind the ear. An involuntary release of breath. 

“Crowley…”

A faint drag of teeth. Fingertips pressing  _ just so _ to force the lift of the chin.

“We can’t. Not… here.”

A sharp nose, greedily inhaling the most familiar cologne.

“What’s wrong with here?”

“It isn’t--”

Skilled hands releasing a knot, one button, two. The bob of an Adam’s apple.

“--decent.”

The rustle of cotton. Searing lips tattooing kisses on never-seen flesh.

“My Angel. When it comes to you, I don’t believe anything could be indecent.”

Blue eyes forced open. The dusky sliver of sunrise between the buildings, surreal through the crystal clarity of the windscreen.

“What if a policeman, or--”

An indulgent sigh. A blonde head tapping back against a window. Perpetually warm hands tugging at old wool.

“--or a passerby, out for a morning run...”

The lift of hips. The sound of fabric hitting the floorboard.

“Yes...”

Hunger. Want.  _ Need. _

“...it would take a Miracle to keep that from happening.”

“You know very well I can’t--”

A stuttered intake of air. A firm grip, encompassing, stroking. A voice in the ear.

“This one’s on me, Angel.”

Weight shifting. Thighs being nudged apart. Hot, wet, gorgeous suction.  _ Pleasure. _

“Crowley!”

A moan, long and steady. A prayer.

“How did you learn to--”

Muscles tensing. A spine stiffens.

“Wait… C-Crowley. How did you learn--”

Fear stilling the very air in the lungs.

“Oh. Oh, no no. Aziraphale, no, don’t. It wasn’t… what you’re thinking. It wasn’t.”

A palm brushing a cheek. Trembling fingers willing understanding.

“So you’re saying, in all those years. The places you’ve been, the things you’ve… you want me to believe you’ve never…”

Pleading eyes. Honesty. Love.

“Yes. I want you to believe that. I am asking you to believe that, because that is the truth. There was never anyone who…”

Hopeful words, steady though still desperate.

“Who could tempt you?”

An unveiled melancholy. Averted eyes.

“Who could be you.”

* * *

The weight of his best friend’s gaze, though he dare not meet it, made him feel as though he were chest deep in quicksand; if he did not choose his movements with appropriate caution, he would suffocate. And yet, as far as he could determine, there was nothing else for it. Sliding behind the wheel and attempting in vain to straighten his jacket, he feigned the only attitude that had ever saved him.

“Get dressed, Angel. Sun’s coming up. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go.”

“Crowley,” he began, uncertain whether it might be best to dress for the conversation at hand.

“It’s my fault,” he interrupted, pulling a pair of sunglasses from the glove box. “All this excitement with the world not being destroyed. Temptation, that’s what I do. Demon, remember?”

As if afraid to startle a wild animal, a gentle hand slowly removed the shades from his eyes. 

“Look at me.” It was a command; one he didn’t have the strength to disobey. Despite his buttons being unfastened and his trousers a bit twisted, Aziraphale’s power shone. “Did you mean it?”

“I meant it. I’ve never done that before. Not any of it. Never felt the need, if you must know.”

“I’m asking about the other bit, Crowley. You know I am. Did you mean it?”

Glassy eyes fell to the pristine leather between them. It had seen him through so much. The end of creation. Why not this?

“That too.” He coughed, despising the emotion in his voice, and redirected his gaze toward the road ahead. “Now that’s settled, where to?”

“Home. Please.”

“Right.” He reached out a shaking hand, gripping the gear shift rather more tightly than was strictly necessary. “The bookshop it is.”

“I didn’t ask you to take me to the bookshop, Crowley.”

He turned to find that the Angel was somehow closer, was leaning into him, eyes flicking down toward his mouth. Next came a whisper that Crowley could’ve heard from the other side of the earth.

“Take me home.” 


End file.
